The Best of the Bad
by Barbossa's Apple Wenches
Summary: Chapters full of strange and cliched pairings. Chapters fully of romantically piratical fun! Who knows what writers would come up with these strange, unreal situations. And even better what twisted minds would actually make a fanfic out of this? we did.
1. A Curious Relationship

_Elizabeth/ Jack_

**Author's Notes**: Hey, there are TWO of us writing these little parodies. Just in case you have not picked up on this yet, it is **not meant to be serious**. At all. It is just a little parody with strange pairings (not this one, it gets GOOD or should I say, BAD?) and very bad, clichéd writing. So, enjoy the short, _normal _preview of what is to come!

**Chapter One**

**The Curious Relationship of Elizabeth Swann and Captain Jack Sparrow**

Elizabeth entered her explicably dull cabin completely alone. She had just broken it off with Will and she felt incredibly remorseful. He had cried, as expected, before running away. _Typical Will behavior_, Elizabeth had thought angrily on the way back to her quarters.

But he was not the only one who was hurting, he had been her first love and they had shared childhood together. They had always been somewhat flirtatious as children, but it had become something bigger then either of them had suspected. While the change had been good for Will, it had hurt Elizabeth more than anyone could imagine. For Elizabeth, the closet romantic, there was nothing worse then being with someone you do not love. Elizabeth shook her dainty head violently, as if to ward away any more unwanted thoughts of Will.

She sank into a rather uncomfortable, ratty, blue chair and rested her head in her hands. How had things gotten so out of her control? She had meant for the break to be clean and somewhat painless, but her plan had gone awry and she ended up massacring Will's feelings and his heart.

"So much for 'we can still be friends'", Elizabeth muttered darkly to herself.

An indefinite knock at the door roused Elizabeth from her musings. She glanced curiously at the door for a moment, before getting up, and walking to the door.

"Who is it?" she whispered, hoping with all her heart that it was not Will come to win her back.

"Hey luv, it's Jack," called Jack somewhat loudly from the other side of the door.

He was drunk, obviously. But that was not too unusual for Jack. Elizabeth paused for a moment, considering, before opening the door. Jack was leaning ever so casually against the doorframe.

"So, you really got young Mr. Turner worked up, ya got any particular reason for givin' him the old heave ho?"

Elizabeth thought quickly, "Well, I suppose it just wasn't working out for us."

Jack smiled and nodded, she knew it did not buy a word of it.

"Um, would you like to come in?"

"No, no we wouldn't want to give Turner any ideas now, would we?"

Elizabeth laughed a bit before leaning against the wall of her room.

"I do suppose Will would become suddenly suspicious, that would be just like him," she commented, sighing loudly.

"So, my luv-y dove-y, tell me the truth about why you broke it off with Mister Tuner. It wasn't working will not be an acceptable answer."

Elizabeth's heart fluttered like a little blue butterfly in her chest. She knew she was in dangerous waters here because the reason she broke it off with Will was standing, or rather leaning, and right in front of her.

"Well, I just don't think Will had the same…charisma I am searching for," she tried; she knew it was rather bold suggesting so much.

Elizabeth intently studied Jack's face—looking for any signs that he had picked up her drift, but his face remained unusually inexpressive. Elizabeth watched in breathlessness as one of Jack's eyes roamed on its own, a trait Elizabeth admired most in Jack. When he was drunk he had a sort of lazy eye.

"Jack…," Elizabeth trailed off not knowing what she was going to say.

Jack looked her right in her large, beautiful eyes…well one of his eyes looked at her alarmingly large eyes... and her little, maiden heart sped up.

"I know, luv, I know," he said, walked into the room, and kissed her.

Elizabeth sighed in happiness; this was what she had been waiting for! After all, their last names were both birds! That could not be a coincidence. Also, she had always wanted a drunken pirate, with strange hair, bad breath, and bad hygiene to fall in love with her. Elizabeth Swann was perfectly content, even as in the midst of their romantic kiss Jack passed out from alcohol consumption. But, Elizabeth, being the good sport that she is, just laughed it off and dragged Jack outside her door. Things were definitely looking up.

Outside, from behind a notoriously (look for this in future chapters!) placed lemon box Will watched. He immediately saw the love in Elizabeth's deer-in-the-headlights-like eyes and his very soul burned with passionate anger. He would have revenge on Jack Sparrow for stealing his woman!

As Elizabeth shut the door with a happy smile, leaving Jack passed out right outside her door, Will immediately jumped into action. Unfortunately in the process of jumping, Will hit his head on a conveniently placed lantern and passed out. He fell to the floor behind the lemon box with a ginormous bump on his head. A bump that would never fade. A bump…of revenge.

**Woo-hoo! More fun filled chapters to come, with a lot more crazy pairings. (Not that we have anything against Jack and Elizabeth) But like…CRAZY pairings. **

**Okies, enough rambling!**


	2. A Newfound Love

**Authoress Note: Hello, I am sorry this took so long to update! We both have written quite a bit, but have been uber lazy in posting. I was just going through tonight and came across this story, decided to type up one of the blurbs I had written, and TA-DA! Hopefully me and my friend will keep writing and keep YOU, the reader, entertained with our lovely pairings. **

**Moving on...tonight's update...**

**Chapter Two: A Newfound Love**

Davy Jones was having a bad day and not just a "great, I got 10 tests back with Ds and Fs on them" kind of bad, but the kind of bad that usually means: "Well today I had to do a speech in front of emotionless people, my teacher danced in circles around a bonfire singing something the slightly resembled "Amazing Grace", and my friggin' poptart was burnt in the toast goddammit!" Yes, indeed, it was the worst of times.

He enters his chambers, the memory of his burnt poptart seared into his brain. He hates his lonesome life; he had loved one poptart only to be separated by the fiery depths of burntness. He did once love another once besides his poptart though, but that love had shown him no kindness…Davy's eyes wander his (musical! You sick minds) organ, sitting tall and ominous against the wall. It was oh so innocent! The exact opposite to his hellfire soul. Well, Davy plans to make the best of this situation.

"Um, hey," he says intelligently and gives an awkward smile.

The organ says nothing.

"So, whatcha been up to?"

A key on the organ sounded.

"Oh, of course, of course," nods Davy Jones, completely understanding, "I think some changes need to be made around here since I cannot simply keep my feelings locked inside the treasure chest of my heart any longer! Everyday I pour out my very heart, my very soul to you! And then you, you, my love, voice them in song! I need to tell you that, that, I LOVE YOU!"

A silence filled the room, Davy feels as if he is being rejected…but then the organ plays a high, loving note. He loves him too! (Yes the organ is a he, so what?)

Davy runs to his newfound love and embraces him rather awkwardly…I mean after all, he did have a claw for a hand…

A pounding is heard at the door and Davy guiltily jumps away from Organ (MUSICAL ORGAN!) as a crewmate enters.

"We need cha on deck Captain," says the random, unimportant crewmember.

"Um, okies," Davy replies, quickly shooing the unimportant secondary character away.

The crewmember stops at the doorframe momentarily and glares back at Davy, he will have his revenge…then he leaves, never to be seen again.

"We will have to keep this passion a secret, my love, I do believe it shall be frowned upon in most societies, but every man has a right to love!" declares Davy passionately, giving the organ a little kiss, "but for now, we shall wait."


	3. A Hidden Love

**A/N: Hey guys, back again. This is our first official update from SweetIntoxication...I didn't exactly get her permission to post this but if I HAD asked she would have been like, "Whatevas, don't talk to my face," or something along those lines. This one is probably the first we (and by we I mean she) wrote so techinically it should have been one of the first up...well...without further ado. **

Chapter Three: A Hidden Love 

Cutler Beckett sat alone in his quarters, his only company the rocking waves and the compass beside him on the table. Glamorous as his position was, it was a lonely life. If only he had a companion, someone to accompany him on his long and hopeless voyage…(except Mr. Mercer, who wasn't very good company at all).

He lazily picked up his compass and opened it, watching it spin around and around as it always did. The needle never settled on anything for him, it seemed.

All of a sudden, however, the needle stopped, pointing right at him. It then proceeded to curl back in to itself, so that the needle was pointing straight to the middle of the compass.

"Damn defective compass," Beckett muttered, throwing the thing to the ground. It hit the floor with a resonating thump and spun back and fourth a bit before finally settling on the wooden planks.

Strangely enough, this seemed to have fixed the needle, as it uncurled itself and lay in its usual indefinite position.

Puzzled, Beckett picked up the device once again, holding at arm's length as if it might explode.

To his outrage, the compass did the exact same thing as it had done before, the needle bending in to itself to point right to the middle of the circular device.

"Blast!" He yelled as he hurled it to the ground again.

Why on earth would that infernal device be doing that? This compass was supposed to show you what you wanted most, your deepest desire. But how could his deepest desire be the compass itself? The idea was absurd.

Once more he picked it up, and it repeated its strange routine. He set it back on the table, more puzzled than ever, and nearly ran outside to get some fresh air and clear his head. This must be some form of extreme seasickness.

-------

That night, Beckett dreamed of the compass. He held the compass in his arms, smelling its lovely wooden smell, caressing its smooth surface.

Even when he awoke, he had to admit to an overwhelming feeling of disappointment. But the strangest part was, that the compass itself was sitting there on his beside table. He knew he hadn't left it there. Very odd. He felt a bit embarrassed looking at the compass now after the not-so-appropriate dream he'd been having about it, and turned over, avoiding it's human-like stare.

He could still feel it looking at him.

"Stop staring at me!" He shrieked at the compass, and tried to go back to sleep. The rest of his night was filled with fitful dreams where he and the compass were always separated.

-------

The next morning, Beckett awoke to the compass right next to his face on the pillow. His first reaction was to scream and swat the thing away, but it felt so comforting to have it here beside him. He gave in to his deepest urges, pulling the compass in to a hug and wrapping his arms around its small wooden frame as tightly as he could.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you last night," he whispered to it, stroking the side with his fingertip. "I hope you aren't mad."

The compass did nothing, which he took as forgiveness.

"Oh, I can't hide it any longer," he suddenly exclaimed, sitting up in bed and holding the compass at eye level. "I love you, compass, and I know you love me too."

The compass sat in his palm, unmoving.

He was just about to pull the compass in to a tender kiss when the door to his room swung open, revealing an outraged Mr. Mercer.

"You bastard!" He howled, his eyes full of hot, angry tears. "You told me I was the only one!"


	4. Abandoned Hope, etc

**Author's Note: Heya all, I just seriously wrote this because I was like, "Damn, we had such bright ideas for this and wrote a ton, but never really did anything" and thus is the way of the world. So I decided to do some improv. and wrote this all in the last ten minutes. I apoligize for lack of new material-it's another Beckett/Mercer one-I guess we only touched it slightly in the last chapter. I had something else written out for them, but abandoned it...oh wellz. It's almost been a year since we started this or at least thought up the idea for it. I can't believe we've only coughed up four chapters! Ha. Oh well. Here you go: enjoy. **

**Disclaimer: Author(s) will not be responsible for any damage to head during face!palming when reader comes in contact with a vile spelling and/or grammer mistake(s) full responsibility is on reader. Please: read at your own risk**

**Chapter Four:**

_Abandoned Hope and of Randomly Switching Points of View_

Mercer was in the most foul of moods. He had recently caught Beckett cheating on him and his black heart had been broken, as if it where nothing more than glass underneath the foot of a very large giant. A very unkind, unfeeling, undeniably attractive giant, that is. Mercer spent most of his time avoiding Beckett, who seemed to be doing the same thing. The only trouble is, it is very hard avoiding someone who you must get orders from. Usually they danced their way around this small problem-one day Mercer found his instructions for the day in his sock and another day in his toothpaste. But, little did Mercer know, today was not a day he would be able to avoid his love.

He paced, back and forth and forth and back and even back and back and forth and forth. It all really depended on what he was thinking about. See, Mercer paced a lot when he didn't have anything else better to do. Come to think of it, he paced all the time unless given specific instructions. Mercer wondered if this pacing was supposed to symbolize thought, maybe he is supposed to be in deep thought about his rejected love? This might be it, mused Mercer, this pacing must be symbolism for my angry heart. So, Mercer put on a troubled face and continued his constant pacing.

Meanwhile, below deck, Beckett was locked up in his cabin. He was very tired of this, you see, he had been avoiding his fling-his fling who had discovered he was only a fling so he flung himself away in despair into a flinging paridise of flingers. Beckett shook his head as common sense tried to reason with him that what he just thought made absolutely no sense and wasn't even funny.

"Of course it was funny," said Beckett aloud, "because I said it."

Indeed.

Beckett was very hungry, no to be precise he was thirsty. He wasn't hungry at all. He really wanted lemonaide, but in wanting lemonaide he would potentially have to cross paths with his dreaded fling.

"I must be strong!" declared Beckett, as he flung open the door to his cabin, toward his love, out of the despair of his lonely cabin, and, most importantly, toward lemonaide.

Beckett climbed the stairs to the deck, where lemonaide was served on a daily basis on top of the case of the notoriously placed lemon case. As he burst into the light of day, he also burst into something else...or to be more logical-he ran into something else.

"Friggin' frickkity frick!" said the thing he had run into.

But it wasn't a thing.

It was THE fling.

Beckett gasped at the use of such course language on his ship, "M-Mr. Mercer!" he cried in surprise at the dirty words that had come from his once flings mouth.

Had he kissed him with that mouth?

Mercer looked utterly shocked, "Be-Be-Be-Be-Bec-Bec-Beck-Beck" he stuttered.

It was an incredibly awkward situation. Mercer had embarressed himself and all of his kin with his dirty words and Beckett had met the thing he had wanted to see least. His fling.

**Beckett's Common Sense**: Seriously. Stop using that word, it's friggin annoying

**Beckett's Brain**: Not you too! Betrayed by my own sense! Now I remember why I strangled you so long ago!

Beckett regained some kind of conciousness after he had sucessfully beat his common sense to a bloody, hopefully dead pulp. He taught it good.

"Um...anyways, I was just here for some...you know...lemonaide, you know what I'm saying?" he said, cool as an ice cube in a freezer.

"I holla'," replied Mercer, still a bit fuzzy from his lack of tact.

"That made absolutely no sense, but I'll let it slide," replied Beckett, moving toward the lemonaide stand.

Awesome. Lemonaide was only 20 cents. The day, perhaps, would be a bit brighter and maybe a few unicorns would join him and they would dance around the maypole together singing, "Greensleeves" until the bright day faded into a deep blue.

"Beckett, we need to talk..."

"Noooooo we don't!" replied Beckett in a sing-songy voice, eagaring awaiting the refreshing taste of lemons on his tougue.

"Fine, your face is ugly anyway," quipped Mercer sullenly.

Beckett turned back to Mercer with a wry smile on his face, "You know what? I can live with that."

I can live with that.

They both smiled and went about their seperate business.

And you know what? The unicorns did come to party.

And it was fun.


End file.
